


Just Like Mom Likes It

by the_100_sin_bin_1985



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Daddy Kink, F/M, First Time, Incest, Incest Kink, Incest Play, Mutual Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Sex Lessons, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_100_sin_bin_1985/pseuds/the_100_sin_bin_1985
Summary: one night Clarke walks in on her mom and stepdad, and nothing's ever the same again after that.(from the 2017 kink meme! original prompt was Kane and Clarke,  "Modern au with daddy kink. Underage clarke encouraged." your wish is my command, friend.)





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke’s eleven years old when they move to the new house and everything changes.  
  
Before, her childhood bedroom was on the other side of the second floor, with her parents’ bedroom, Marcus’ office, the bathroom and the linen closet between them. But the new house has three floors, with nothing on the top but two bedrooms back to back, only separated by a thin wall.  
  
At first she doesn’t completely understand what’s happening when the noises start.  
  
“Fuck, Abby, oh, fuck,” she hears her stepdad grunt, muffled by the wall, accompanied by the dull thud of their metal headboard hitting the wall.  
  
Clarke goes hot and cold all over, and a weird feeling – a little ticklish, a little sick, a little excited, a lot curious – starts to bubble around someplace low, below her tummy at the sound. Mom’s noises are soft and kind of gaspy – _“oh, oh, oh, oh, oh”_ , starting quiet and getting louder – and listening to Mom makes her feel a little weird. But Marcus’ sounds make the feeling in her stomach bubble up even bigger, he sounds like a hungry wild animal and he keeps saying “fuck” and it makes Clarke feel all shivery.  
  
She thinks they might be doing a thing she saw on TV one time, before Marcus changed the channel. It kind of sounds the same.  
  
She wonders if it looks like it does on TV when real people do it.  
  
Out of her pink frilly bed on soft tiny bare feet, white cotton nightgown floating around her like a cloud. Marcus and Mom don’t close the bedroom door always, something they got used to in the old house, which didn't have air conditioning. You had to keep every door and window open for things to stay cool because of something Mom called a “cross-breeze.” So they just never got in the habit of using doors and locks.  
  
She stands in the dark hallway and watches. Marcus is sitting against the headboard, eyes closed, head leaning back. Mom’s on his lap, bouncing up and down, holding onto the headboard and making those squealing little noises while Marcus grunts and huffs and his thighs move up and down. Clarke feels ticklish inside again, like there’s an itch she can’t scratch, so she hitches up her nightgown to move her hand inside her panties where the itch is coming from. Mom’s facing away and can’t see her, Clarke can only see her back, and Marcus has his eyes closed, so she thinks it’s safe for a closer look maybe. Hand still inside her little white panties, she sneaks close enough that the half-open door doesn’t hide her from view. But she’s so curious, and the feeling is just getting stronger, but she doesn’t know what to do to make it stop. She pets herself inside her panties, which feels nice, but it only makes the weird new feeling stronger.  
  
“Fuck, Marcus, I’m so close,” Mom gasps, head drooping down on his shoulder, and then Clarke watches as their bodies start moving faster and faster and faster, Marcus pushing up and Mom pushing down and both of them making more noise.  
  
Then it happens.  
  
Marcus starts to pant, faster and faster like something’s happening, and his eyes fly open.  
  
He sees Clarke.  
  
Clarke doesn’t move, terrified she’s in trouble, frozen in place. Her chin starts to quiver. Will he yell? Will Mom turn around?  
  
No. Nothing happens. He smiles and gives a tiny shake of his head, pressing his finger over his lips. Clarke grins happily back, relieved, hand still inside her little panties, and returns the gesture. _Shhh. Secrets._ Marcus is still smiling, he isn’t shooing her away, so she stays to see what happens next. His eyes stay on her the whole time, watching her hand in her panties. “I’m coming, baby,” he says in a growl, over and over again, eyes fixed on Clarke, hips moving faster and faster. “Fuck . . . fuck . . . so good . . . I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna –"  
  
Then his whole body gives a big shiver and he makes a sound like he’s in pain, and so does Mom. Clarke’s worried for a second, but when he opens his eyes he looks happy and a little sleepy and he’s still smiling at her, so whatever happened must be good. He presses his finger to his lips again and makes a little waving gesture that tells Clarke she better hop back into bed before Mom turns around. Then he blows her a kiss, she blows one back, and quietly sneaks back to bed.  
  
That’s the beginning.

* * *

 

She waits for Marcus to bring it up next time they’re alone together, but he doesn’t. He never says anything. He acts completely normal, and so does Mom. So she must not be in trouble; he didn’t tell.  
  
But Clarke, scared by the close call of almost getting caught snooping by Mom, doesn’t want to risk it again. She just lays in her bed, listening those sounds they make that must mean something happy, and petting herself a little bit inside her panties, and then falling asleep.  
  
She’s fourteen by the time she finally takes a sex ed class with enough detail to help her fill in some of the blanks (Abby knows the health teacher, Abby vetted the entire curriculum, she doesn’t need to give the birds and the bees talk, she just tells Clarke to come to her if she has any questions, which Clarke would never do in a million years because these aren’t thing you can ask your mom; but she does ask the health teacher, gets a card with half a dozen different informational websites, and arrives home with a long list of mysteries solved).  
  
The first time she masturbates, she comes at the same time Marcus does, which makes her happy. It feels like that’s the way it should be. She rubs her clit until she’s shivery and wet all over, and then slides one experimental finger inside herself to wiggle around. The inside part doesn’t really do much for her, quite honestly, and she’s not sure why that’s the one everyone seems to like so much, but rubbing the hard little bead between her thighs feels really yummy and makes her feel like she’s melting and floating at the same time. She feels a weird pressure build up and build up, and it’s a little scary, like something’s going to explode inside her and she doesn’t know what will happen. She presses her pillow over her face, in case she can’t help making those screams like Mom does.  
  
“Uh, uh, uh,” Marcus grunts through the walls. “Oh fuck, oh fuck . . .”  
  
A big electric shock explodes through Clarke, and she has to muffle a squeak in the pillow, at the exact same time that Marcus gives that big deep groan he always gives when it’s all over. Clarke pants to catch her breath and can hear, through the wall, her parents doing the same.  
  
She drifts off to sleep immediately, sated and happy, and dreams of her stepdad holding her.


	2. Chapter 2

She’s fifteen when that night in her white nightgown finally comes up again.  
  
Mom’s doing a three-month stint for Doctors Without Borders, and it’s lonely without her. Clarke and Marcus have always been close, he’s been around since she was four, but they miss her like crazy and it’s weird having only two people in the house. Marcus works from home, so he’s always been the one who does stuff like drive her to soccer and make her lunches and take her to the zoo, he’s the one who cooks and cleans and makes sure they don’t run out of laundry detergent and that she has glue and popsicle sticks for her science projects. So the house keeps running, but it’s not the same with no Mom.  
  
Marcus misses her too, but in some different ways. They Skype a million times a day, he misses talking to her same as Clarke does, but there’s also –   
  
You know.  
  
The other thing.  
  
She hears him every once in awhile in the shower, making softer, quieter versions of those same warm grunting sounds, which makes the churning feeling in her belly even more of a torment now that she’s old enough to know what he’s doing in there.  
  
Sometimes she showers after him, even when she doesn’t really have to, just to stand naked in the shower and picture it. She closes her eyes and rests her foot on the edge of the tub, letting the massaging showerhead pulse on her clit and wonders if this is how Marcus does it or if he holds his dick in his hand and rubs it up and down. They talked about this a little bit in sex ed too, and Clarke’s seen things on TV and in movies, she can kind of picture it. She’s seen Marcus naked a couple of times, when she was really little and nobody in the house cared so much about bathrobes, so she remembers a little bit what his dick looks like but not very clear.  
  
Hot water tickles her clit until it erupts and she comes and comes, skin steamed clean and pink, gripping the shower door handle and thinking about her stepdad making that “uh, uh, uh” noise with his dick in his big hand.  
  
Every once in awhile she comes out of the shower and runs into him in the hallway and can’t quite control a blush, wondering if he can see it on her pink clean skin, read the dirty things she was thinking. But he never does, just ruffles her wet hair until droplets fly everywhere and then goes on his way.  
  
The thing doesn’t happen until Mom’s been gone more than a month.  
  
Clarke has a secret that Mom and Marcus don’t know, and it just happened today, and she’s flushed excited and nervous and happy and scared all over. Her friend Raven from school – the one she kisses behind the gym sometimes, the one who explained to her about what to do with the showerhead – has a fake ID and snuck into the store on the corner by the deli, the store with the big neon pink “XXX” above the door, and brought Clarke back a present.  
  
It’s little and narrow and a bright, adorable pink with tiny red hearts, and it only takes two AA batteries, and Raven promises it’s quiet. She has one and uses it every night. Clarke’s explained to her that she doesn’t feel anything when things go inside her, but Raven swears she must not be doing it right, and the present will help.  
  
After dinner, Marcus wants to play a game or watch a movie, but Clarke can’t wait to get to bed and try out her little pink toy, so she negotiates him down from _Pacific Rim_ to two episodes of something about food carts on the Cooking Channel, and then kisses him goodnight.  
  
A teenage girl being _that_ eager to get to bed at 9:15 p.m. on a Friday night is an obvious giveaway that she’s up to no good, so in hindsight Clarke realizes she shouldn’t have been surprised that he waited a few minutes and then followed her up the stairs, curious and maybe a little worried, wondering what was going on and correctly surmising that she was hiding something.  
  
So _that_ part was pretty predictable.  
  
It’s what he does when he gets there that changes everything.

* * *

She doesn’t hear him come up the stairs or silently push open her door. She doesn’t see him standing there, leaning in the doorway, watching her. She has no idea he’s there.  
  
She’s on top of the covers, lying on her back with her legs spread, panties tossed on the floor, white cotton nightgown pushed up around her waist and sliding off her shoulder. The little pink vibrator makes a cheerful little buzzing sound, but when Clarke tries to put it inside, nothing feels quite right. She closes her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration, wanting it to work, wanting to feel what Raven said she’d feel, but she still doesn’t get it, she has no idea why girls are supposed to like this so much, but it isn’t fun and it doesn’t feel nice like the showerhead feels nice, it doesn’t make the thing happen, and everything’s disappointing.  
  
She grits her teeth, tries one more time to push it in, when she’s startled and horrified by the feeling of a gentle hand on hers and someone sitting beside her on the bed.  
  
“Honey, give me that,” says a warm, low voice, and he takes the vibrator out of her hand to set it down on the nightstand.  
  
“Marcus?” she whispers, flustered, pink, mortified, frantically hitching down her nightdress to cover herself up, and masks her confused feelings with anger. “You didn’t knock!”  
  
“I was worried about you.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“I don’t think you are.” She blushes and looks away. He reaches down to stroke her hair out of her face with a smile, he’s acting so normal, he’s not uncomfortable or embarrassed, and it helps a little. Marcus has always been easy to talk to about girl things, he knows what brand of tampons both Clarke and Abby like and he doesn’t get weird about buying them like some dads do, like it’s embarrassing for them to be seen with tampons in their grocery cart. Marcus doesn’t care. He makes everything easy, comfortable. “Does your mom know you have this?” he asks gently, gesturing to the vibrator. Clarke flushes and shakes her head. God, the thought of this conversation with Mom. She’d get a mortifying Doctor Griffin lecture with a full PowerPoint presentation about healthy female sexuality.  
  
But the thought of sex plus her mom plus Marcus in her bedroom plus the vibrator plus the white nightgown she’s wearing takes her back to a whole different place and she suddenly can’t look at Marcus anymore. He reads her discomfort immediately and with his usual skill, puts his finger right on the thing.  
  
“We’ve never talked about that night,” he says in a low voice, and Clarke feels that feeling begin to bubble up inside her belly. He takes her by the hand and sits her up against the pillows so he can scoot a little closer and look her in the eye. She’s still flushed pink and trying to figure out how much trouble she’s in, and she goes hot and cold all over at his words. “When you watched me and your mom.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she says, so quietly he almost can’t hear her, face beet red, looking away. He laughs, warm and gentle and not mad at all.  
  
“Oh, baby girl, you’re not in trouble,” he says, ruffling her hair. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Your mom doesn’t know, I never told her. And you and I are fine. It’s okay, sweetheart. Totally okay, I promise.” Years’ worth of tension uncoils all at once, and she puts her arms around his neck, snuggling gratefully into his shoulder. He hugs her back. His arms are warm and strong, and she feels miles better by the time he lets go of her. “I won’t tell your mom about the vibrator either.”  
  
“Thanks, Marcus.”  
  
“You’re growing up,” he says, “and I think it’s good that you have it, that you’re learning these things. I kind of get why maybe you don’t want to talk to your mom about it, because she can be very much, you know, a doctor . . .” Clarke giggles at this, years of shared memories coming up. Abby’s lectures on how antibacterial products create strains of superflu, her fanaticism about sunscreen. This would be that times a hundred. “But you know you can always talk to me, right?” She nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“About that night,” he says. “Or about where you got the vibrator. Or about standing outside the bathroom door and listening when I’m in the shower."

The hot red flush sweeps back over her cheeks and she can’t look at him. He knows. He knows. He knows she listens. He sees her pull away, tight and mortified, and cups her soft cheek in his hand to pull it back towards him. “Sweetheart, you’re not in trouble,” he tells her. “I promise. You’re safe with me, okay? I’m not mad. Never mad. But I think you might have some questions about . . . well, about how your body works. How certain things work. And if I can help explain things, or teach you things, then I want to try.”  
  
“I don’t know why it feels good for other girls and not for me,” Clarke blurts out in a small voice, then blushes, and hates herself. But Marcus gets it immediately.  
  
“You mean taking something inside.” She nods, instantly relieved. His tone of voice is perfectly normal, like they’re talking about doing the dishes.  
  
“Raven says she has one just like this and it feels really good. She likes it a lot. And Mom – “ She can’t quite take this line of thought any further, but Marcus finishes for her.  
  
“Yes,” he says. “You saw us. And you’ve heard us, probably a lot. Yes. It feels really, really good for your mom.”  
  
“But I can’t make it feel good. Not with the pink thing, or my fingers, or anything.”  
  
“It takes practice,” he says easily. “For a lot of women. And you have to be super, super relaxed the first time, or your muscles just clamp down all tight and it doesn’t feel good. Or it hurts. And then you have to make sure you’re . . . well, ready.”  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“Wet,” he explains. “That’s why your body does that. To make that part of it easier. The more wet you are, the easier it will be. And all of that takes practice, and experience. But while you’re learning, there are other ways to feel good that work just as well.” She nods at this, and his eyes grow warmer, more interested. “Oh,” he says. “So you’ve already . . . this isn’t the first time you’ve tried.”   
  
She wants to turn away and stop looking at him, her belly is churning, it’s like that very first night when she was eleven except with the volume turned way up because of the way he’s looking at her.  
  
“Clarke,” he says to her, in a quiet voice that makes her shiver all over, “do you touch yourself when you listen to us?”  
  
His eyes are big and dark and she can’t pull away from his stare. “Please don’t tell Mom,” she whimpers quietly. He shakes his head.  
  
“Mom doesn’t need to know,” he says softly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m going to teach you. I’m going to teach you everything.”  
  
She swallows hard. “Teach me what?”  
  
“When you were little,” he tells her. “When you watched us. Do you want it like that?” Her eyes fly wide open, shocked, embarrassed, pink to the roots of her golden hair, but he’s not making fun of her, he’s warm and kind and perfectly serious. “What you saw me do with your mom,” he says gently. “You want to learn how to make it feel good like that.”   
  
She bites her lip, thinks about lying, thinks about denying it. It might be easier.  
  
But then she thinks about those sounds, about her mom practically screaming in pleasure, and she thinks about Marcus all sweaty and flushed and those _“uh uh uh”_ noises that make her feel shivery, and she thinks about how the little pink toy made her feel nothing and Raven wasn’t any help, and yeah, she needs someone who knows what they’re doing.  
  
“Teach me,” she implores him. “Please. But don’t tell Mom.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

A warm, pleased smile breaks over his face as he kisses her hair and lowers her back down onto her back on the lacy pink-and-white bed. Then he dims the bedside lamp and climbs into the bed with her. She reaches for the toy, but he pulls her hand back. “Not yet,” he says. “We’re going to start at the very beginning. For each lesson, once you get it right, I’ll give you a reward. I’ll show you the right way to use that later. But for now we’re going to start much simpler.”  
  
“Okay,” she says breathlessly, his big warm body settling over hers. She’s always loved cuddling with Marcus, and this is no different. He runs his hands up and down her arms and kisses her forehead to soothe her, and she squirms happily as he shifts his weight to cover her completely. “Where do we start?”  
  
“The girl who gave you the vibrator.”  
  
“Raven.”  
  
“Raven. Do you kiss her sometimes?”  
  
“Yeah. Sometimes. Don’t –"  
  
“. . . tell your mom. I know, I know. Show me how you do it.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Kiss me,” he says. “Kiss me like you kiss Raven.” Then he goes soft and unresistant, lets her guide him, lets her take the lead so she can show him.  
  
Clarke and Raven’s kisses are high on enthusiasm and low on skill. Her mouth crashes into Marcus’ and works fast and wet against his lips, hungry and clumsy and rushed. After a moment, he gently, kindly, cups her face in his hands and pulls her away. “That’s a really good start,” he says in an encouraging voice. “But I’m going to teach you a different way, okay? You were kissing me like a girl. I’m going to show you how to kiss like a woman.”  
  
“What,” she starts to ask, but then everything flies out of her head when his lips touch hers.  
  
It starts soft, so soft, just the lightest brush of contact, his lips nibbling against hers, his moustache and beard tickling her skin. He cradles her face like she’s a precious thing, then opens his mouth and lets the warm pressure of his tongue trace the seam of her lips until they tumble open and his tongue can sweep into her mouth. “Mmmm,” he moans into her, and Clarke feels like she might burst because he’s making the sound for her, really for her, it’s a little one and a quiet one but it’s all hers, she got him to make it. His tongue brushes over hers, which tickles her whole body and makes warmth pool between her thighs, and his lips open and close against hers so gently that they guide her into their rhythm. Soon she’s kissing him back the same way, hot, melting, open, his low rumbling moaning sounds coursing through her bloodstream.  
  
“That’s much better, baby,” he whispers into her cheek as his lips move from her mouth to her hairline, her ear, her neck. “You kissed Daddy like a big girl, I’m so proud of you.”  
  
 _Daddy._  
  
A word they’ve never used. Jake was “your dad” or “your father,” gone so long ago that Clarke doesn’t remember him. Marcus was always Marcus. But “Daddy” makes her feel warm all over, it’s a word made of love, it’s a word that means she’s small and he’s big and he’s going to take care of her and everything’s going to be all right.  
  
“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers back, and feels the crackle of electricity between them as he stares at her, eyes big and dark.   
  
He likes that.  
  
He _really_ likes it.  
  
So does she.  
  
His weight shifts on top of her, his hips rocking a little bit, the way they did with Mom, and that makes her all shivery too. She’s making him feel good.  
  
“Do you want to play with yourself a little bit while I kiss you?” he asks, tucking a golden strand of hair behind her ears. “It’s okay if you do.”  
  
“Yes please,” she murmurs, and he moves to make room for her hand between their bodies. He told her to, so she isn’t embarrassed, slipping her fingers between her thighs and rubbing her little pink clit as his mouth opens and closes on hers.   
  
“Want to play with Daddy a little bit too?”  
  
She stares up at him, astonished. “Can I?”  
  
“We’ll start slow,” he tells her, guiding her hand to the front of his boxer shorts. “Don’t go inside just yet. But yes. You can touch it.” She gives a gentle squeeze, and is rewarded by a soft little “uh” noise of pleasure. “Very good, Princess,” he tells her. “Oh, you’re gonna be so good at this, baby girl. Me and you are going to make each other feel so, so good.”

They lie there like that for a long time. Marcus holds her face in both hands, kissing her, deep and hard and slow, while she fumblingly strokes both of them with eager little fingers. She wants to come, but can’t quite get there, and it’s infuriating because everything feels so shivery-good that she needs release or she’ll go crazy.   
  
Finally, Marcus lifts his head from hers and pulls her hand away from kneading his cock through his shorts.   
“Did I do good, Daddy?”  
  
“Oh, Princess,” he murmurs hoarsely, “you did so good. You kissed Daddy just like a big girl. That was the first lesson and you passed. Now you get a treat.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“I’m going to teach you how to use your new toy,” he tells her, smiling. “Lie back and get comfortable.”  
  
So she does.  
  
He settles her back against the pillows, fluffing them beneath her head, stroking her hair. Then he gently lifts her nightgown up above her hips, pressing soft kisses against her tummy that tickle and make her laugh. “We’re going to start slow,” he tells her, reaching for the pink toy and switching it on, “so I’m not going to go inside. I’m going to do it the other way.”  
  
“What other – oh!” she gasps, as the buzzing little head of the vibrator hits her clit and shivers ring through her, reverberating from head to toe like he’s struck an iron bell inside her body.  
  
“Like you do with your fingers,” he murmurs, “but this instead.”  
  
“Okay,” she whispers breathlessly. “Okay.”  
  
“Clarke, has Raven or anybody else ever kissed you down there?”  
  
“What? Down there? No, never.”  
  
“Okay,” he tells her, “I’m going to use this and I’m going to give you some kisses and I want you to tell me what you like.”  
  
“Marcus, are we going to do the thing?” she asks suddenly, and he looks up at her, pausing. “The thing you and Mom do,” she plunges on recklessly. “That makes her yell like that. That makes you make that sound.”  
  
He looks at her for a long time. “You’re fifteen, Clarke,” he tells her, “you know what it’s called. Ask me.”  
  
“Are we going to . . . “ Her voice trails off so quietly it’s barely audible. “Have sex,” she mumbles, turning away, words disappearing into the pillow.  
  
He doesn’t answer. “Use the word you heard us use,” he finally says in a low voice, and it has that thing in it, that mysterious thing that makes her feel shivery all over, like the voice he uses on Mom. “If you want me to do it to you. It’s okay if you don’t. But if you do, ask me for it, and use the word we used.”  
  
“I’m not supposed to say it.”  
  
“You can say it to me,” he tells her. “That’s what I like to call it.”  
  
She nods, shakily. “I want you to f – to fuck me,” she finally blurts out, trembling, and she’s rewarded with another deep, impossibly delicious kiss.  
  
“I will,” he breathes into her ear. “Oh, baby girl. I will. But you have to be patient. I’m going to teach you everything, and I’m going to do it right, so when the time comes, oh, sweetheart, I promise, it’s going to feel so good.” He kisses her nose, smiling. “Now lie back and close your eyes.”

The vibrator sings and hums against her skin, making her little thighs shake. Marcus has to hold her down with his other hand flat on her belly, but when that’s not enough, he makes her hold the little toy in place so he can press down on both her thighs, preventing her from wriggling free. She comes with a little squeak, shaking so hard she drops the vibrator. He picks it up, switches it off, and runs soothing hands up and down her trembling legs. “That was good,” he tells her approvingly. “Really good. Now it’s time for something new.”   
  
When he kisses her between the legs, she goes melty and hot all over, and everything becomes a blur. His tongue is everywhere at once, it feels like, sometimes tracing little circles around the bead of her clit, sometimes darting in and out of the opening where she just had the vibrator, sometimes licking up the middle with broad flat strokes like a cat. Everything feels good, but she’s all melty and fuzzy and she can’t tell him how much she likes it because she can’t get words to come out at all. This time when she comes it’s even bigger than before, it’s like nothing she’s ever felt, it’s like she’s exploding, and it’s partly the feeling of his mouth and his beard and his tongue all over her but it’s also the moaning little sounds of happiness he makes as he nuzzles her, like she tastes good, like he wants to do this, like he’s happy.  
  
A picture of herself on his lap, bouncing up and down in her parents’ bed. Marcus grunting _“uh, uh, uh . . . fuck, Clarke, baby girl, you feel so good . . . so good for Daddy . . ."_  
  
She comes _again_ , right after the second one, she didn’t even know she could _do_ that, her whole body quivering like it’s made of jelly as he slowly kisses his way back up her chest to her mouth.  
  
She’s flushed and sweating and weak and her eyes are glazed over, hair a tangled golden mess on the pillow. “Goodnight, baby girl,” he murmurs, as he rises from the bed and leaves her there.  
  
She hears him go into his room and close the door, hears him switch off the light and climb into bed.  
  
Then it happens.  
  
A soft, wet, slapping sound, skin on skin.  
  
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunts, knowing she’s listening. “Oh fuck. Yes. Fuck.”  
  
Clarke feels between her thighs. She’s _soaked_.   
  
She reaches for the vibrator, still shining and wet on her bedside table.  
  
 _“Uh, uh, uh,”_ grunts Marcus heavily through the wall as Clarke slips it down between her thighs and switches it on.  
  
They come at the same time.


	4. Chapter 4

She sleeps blissfully, limbs heavy and sated and soft, and wakes up when a gentle hand on her shoulder shakes her awake. Marcus, in his bathrobe, is sitting on the edge of her bed.  
  
“Morning, princess,” he grins at her, stroking her hair.  
  
She yawns and stretches sleepily like a kitten. “Mmmm. Morning.”  
  
“Did you sleep well?” She nods happily up at him. “Good girl. Now come here for a minute and show me you remember what we learned last night.” He scoops her up in his arms until she’s sitting against the headboard where he can lean in close. “Give Daddy a kiss.”  
  
She concentrates hard, she’s slow and careful, she wants to get it right. She cups his bearded jaw in her little hands and brushes her soft pink lips over his mouth, then opens to let her tongue brush against his. He moans lightly into her mouth again and she starts to shiver, mouth working open and closed more and more hungrily against him. His grip on her arms tightens, like he’s struggling to maintain control, and those sounds she likes so much get louder, and she feels wet and warm between the thighs again, little high-pitched mewls of want muffled against his big rough tongue.  
  
Finally he pulls away and kisses her forehead. “Oh, that’s so good,” he murmurs. “I think we can move onto the next lesson.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“I’m going to go take a shower.”  
  
“Okay. And then after?”  
  
He shakes his head, smiling mischievously at her. “No, sweetheart. I’m going to take a shower. And you’re going to come with me.”

* * *

The upstairs bathroom in this house was part of what sold Mom on it, Clarke remembers; she was swooning out loud of the marble vanity and the skylights when they took the tour with the realtor. And the bathtub is her favorite detail. A jacuzzi tub big enough for four, encased in glass with an elaborate system of multiple showerheads and build in benches. Plenty of room for one daddy and one little girl to fit in there together.  
  
Marcus closes the bathroom door – even though there’s nobody else home – and pushes the buttons that close the skylights halfway, dimming the blinding bright morning sun. It makes everything feel a little cozy and a little private, and Clarke feels warm all over. He turns on the hot water, letting the room fill a little bit with steam, then he makes sure Clarke is watching and tugs open his robe.  
  
_Oh._  
  
His whole body is nice, the right amount of smooth and the right amount of hair and so strong. She’s seen him with no shirt before but it’s different when he’s totally naked. Her eyes follow the dark trail of hair from his chest down to the swelling heavy thing between his thighs that looks way, way, way too big to fit inside of Mom, let alone her, but she can’t stop staring at it anyway.  
  
“Now you,” he says gently, and watches with dark, interested eyes as she shyly tugs her nightgown over her head, pale hair spilling over white shoulders.  
  
His eyes are so intense on her body it’s like she can feel them. He stares at her breasts, he stares between her legs, he walks around behind her and stares at the back of her, quiet for so long she starts to get embarrassed and shy. But “No, baby girl,” he murmurs, pulling her hands away when she tries awkwardly to cover herself. “No, Daddy’s not done looking yet. Everything’s so beautiful. I’m not done looking yet.” The word “beautiful” makes her blush awkwardly and look away, but he takes her face in his hands and pulls her back to him. “Beautiful,” he repeats again firmly, giving her a sweet, slow kiss. “Daddy’s beautiful baby girl.” His hands run lightly over her skin, giving her goosebumps – up her arms, along her shoulders, then sliding down to take her breasts in his hands and lightly pinch each nipple until it stands up straight in a tight, aching little peak.  
  
Then he opens the shower door, steps inside, and pulls her in after him.

He washes her first, gentle and tender, lathering her body and her hair with Mom’s fanciest, sweet-smelling bath stuff nobody but her is supposed to use. His hands on her body are soft and strong and the steam feels so nice and she gets all melty as he touches her everywhere, so soft, so full of love for his baby girl. She washes him next, a little more clumsily, standing on her tiptoes to reach his shoulders with the loofah, fumbling and giggling a little. He stops to kiss her a lot, and she feels warmth between her legs that isn’t just the heat of the shower. Finally when they’re both scrubbed clean he switches the showerhead to the massage setting, the one Clarke likes to hold against her clit, and he gently sits her down on one of the benches in the tub. “Spread your legs,” he orders her in a low voice, and takes one long greedy look at her fresh pink cunt, downy with golden hair. Then he hands her the showerhead. “Let’s play a game.”  
  
“What kind of game?”  
  
“A race,” he explains. “You do it the way you usually do it, and I’ll do it the way I usually do it, and we’ll watch each other, and see who finishes first. Then tonight’s lesson will be to see if you can do it to me the way I do it to myself.”  
  
Clarke watches the heavy dick between his thighs, and bites her lip. He’s going to take it in his hands, he’s going to make the noises right here, for _her_ , she gets to watch. She nods breathlessly, leaning back against the wall of the tub, propping up one foot to open herself wider – both to the stream of water, and to his thirsty gaze – and then places the nozzle over her cunt.  
  
“Go,” says Marcus, and as he grips his dick in his hand she moves the nozzle directly over her clit, yelping with pleasure.  
  
Usually she has to try to be quiet when she does this, but it’s nice not to have to worry about that. Her soft, shrill little cries of pleasure – _“oh, oh, oh, oh”_ – float through the low grunting sounds he makes, along with the wet rush of flesh on flesh. She watches his hand move up and down, tries to remember every movement so she can do this to him later. His sounds make her shivery and his eyes are locked onto her cunt and his big smooth wet dick is stretched out big and long and shining pink and purple in his big strong hand and even though he seems to be going really slow for someone in a race, he’s definitely enjoying himself.  
  
Clarke comes first, with a high-pitched gasping little scream, and Marcus catches the showerhead in her limp hand, hanging it back up with a chuckle before she drops it. “I won!” she announces, thinking he’ll protest (Marcus is ruthlessly competitive at family game night and yells at the television a lot when the World Cup is on). But he merely smiles lazily, still stroking himself.  
  
“You sure did, baby girl,” he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you. Why don’t you come over here and get a closer look.”  
  
She clambers wetly down onto her knees, using the bench for balance, until his dick is level with her face and she can watch him carefully. Hand up and down, smooth long strokes. The tip seems to be sensitive, he touches himself there a lot. She studies it painstakingly, like she’s cramming for a test.  
  
“Can I touch it?” she asks him doubtfully, “or is that cheating for later?”  
  
He chuckles. “You can touch it,” he murmurs, amused. “But be gentle. Soft fingers. And it likes kisses, too.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Remember last night, what I did with you? Later I’ll teach you how to do it to me.”  
  
“And does it feel just as nice?”  
  
“Really, really nice, baby. I’ll show you how to do it right.”

He pauses his hand mid-motion and lets Clarke take a closer look. She’s gentle, just like he asked, running wet little fingers along the big ridged vein and the blushing pink head, stroking the smooth skin, before looking up at him for permission and then bending her head to press a soft kiss on the warm, pink, clean flesh.  
  
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Now stand back a little bit, baby, because this part makes a mess.”  
  
“What do you mean?” she asks, but he doesn’t answer, and she forgets her question almost immediately because he’s doing it, he’s making the sounds. _“Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh.”_ Hand flying hot and fast and slick up and down his cock, grunting, hungry, not even trying to hold back the sound, mouth parted, eyes fixed intensely on hers as she stares and bites her lip and trembles with pleasure. It's even better when it's not muffled by the door, even better when she can watch his face, watch his hand.  
  
Then something happens, she doesn’t know what, and warm white liquid suddenly bursts out of nowhere all across her belly and breasts, surprising her and making her giggle. He laughs too.  
  
“Sorry if that startled you.”  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“You know how you get wet when you come? It’s the same way for me, except yours stays all nice and clean inside here –“ (he tickles her pussy until she giggles) “ . . .and for men, it comes out of here.” He gestures to the tiny little slit in the head of his cock, and she leans in to get a closer look at the thick white liquid seeping out of it. “It makes a mess, which is why I usually only do it either inside your mom, or in the shower.”  
  
She looks up at him. “You weren’t in the shower when you did it last night.”  
  
He looks down at her sharply, his expression changing, the amused smile falling away. “So you heard that,” he says, raising an eyebrow. She nods. “Did you touch yourself, Clarke? Did you make yourself come again?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, awkward and hesitant, not sure if that’s the right answer but frozen under his penetrating stare.  
  
“Oh, no, baby girl,” he murmurs. “No, that’s exactly what you were supposed to do. That was for you. I did that for you. I was thinking about you and hoping you were thinking about me.”  
  
“I always am,” she confesses, all in a rush, words tumbling out. “Every time I do it, I’m thinking about you.”  
  
This makes him swallow hard, like it’s something he wasn’t prepared for. “Is that true?” She nods. “You think about watching me and your mom?” Another nod. “And maybe, sometimes, maybe you picture it that it’s you instead? Instead of her?”  
  
“I don’t want you to stop loving her,” Clarke whispers, “I just want you to love me too.”  
  
His mouth is on hers before she even knows what’s happening, hands all over her, smearing the warm sticky liquid across her skin. “You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl who loves her mother and her daddy so much. Such a big heart. Oh, you deserve a special treat for being so sweet, my baby.” Then he drops to his knees in front of her. “Hold on,” he orders her, looking up at her with something like adoration in his eyes, waiting for her to clutch hard onto the chrome rail on the side of the tub. Then he lifts her leg in his strong hands, draping her slender little thigh over his shoulder, and nuzzles into her cunt so deeply she almost screams.  
  
Last night he was light, and slow, and gentle, but he’s ravenous today and she’s so glad she has something to hold onto because his tongue feels so good she thinks she’ll fall over. Rough and hard and demanding, but in the best way. And his beard tickles the inside of her thighs at this angle, his nose pushes into her, his lips are sweet and soft, everything feels good everywhere and even though she just came from the shower she comes again in almost no time at all, melting into orgasm as he catches her in his arms and holds her tight for a long, long time, letting the hot steaming water scour them clean.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s Saturday, and neither of them have any plans, and there’s a James Bond movie marathon on TV. So they put on the bare minimum of clothing – Marcus pulls on a pair of boxers and watches with a warm smile as Clarke tugs on a pair of white cotton panties with little red hearts. “Here,” he murmurs, and hands her something silky and white.  
  
It’s Mom’s.  
  
She puts it on a little shyly, reveling in the feeling of silk against her skin. It’s a negligee cut low in the front and back, the vee-shaped neckline dipping between her breasts, so short it barely covers Clarke’s ass. She’s never seen Mom wear this, only seen it in the laundry, and the fact that Mom’s never worn it out of the bedroom probably means it’s something Mom only saves to wear during . . .  
  
_Oh._  
  
Clarke flushes pink all over as Marcus runs his hands up the silky white fabric, cupping her breasts and making her shiver. “Perfect,” he says, then leads her downstairs.  
  
Marcus texts Mom that they’re taking a family day and both turning off their phones. She texts back a string of heart and smiley face emojis that means she loves them, misses them, and wouldn’t have time to talk anyway because she’s in the middle of a double-shift in surgery. Marcus makes blueberry pancakes and they eat on the couch and watch _From Russia With Love_. Something’s changed between them, making Clarke want to be touching Marcus all the time. They’ve always been an affectionate family, but before last night, if they were watching a movie together she’d sit on the other side of the couch. But now she’s curled up into his side with his arm around her, legs draped over his lap, cradled in his arms, and it feels like perfect happiness.  
  
Of course, some of the sex scenes are pretty sexy, and every once in awhile Clarke shifts and feels Marcus’ lap shift and grow hard beneath her, and then feels warmth between her own thighs at the thought. So from time to time, over the course of the day as they snuggle up together and watch movie after movie, Marcus’ left hand slides into his shorts and his right hand into Clarke’s little white panties and she nuzzles her face into his shoulder, swooning with happiness at those little grunting sounds she loves so much, and coming with a little gasp at the sound of his big groaning cry.  
  
They order Thai food for dinner and stay up late to finish _Casino Royale,_ and then Marcus turns to her and runs his hands up the white silk against her skin and murmurs, “Upstairs, baby girl. Time for tonight’s lesson.”  
  
“Are you going to fuck me?” she whispers, cheeks hot red with anticipation. “Is that why I’m wearing this?”  
  
“You’re wearing that because I wanted to look at you in it,” he tells her. “You’re still not quite ready for that yet, baby. We have to make sure you’re ready so it feels good the first time.”  
  
“I can be ready,” she says bravely, and he smiles and kisses her hair.  
  
“I want it to feel good when you take me inside you,” he murmurs, following her into her room and shutting the door. “I want to make sure you like the way that feels.”  
  
“The way Mom does?”  
  
He nods. “Yeah. The way your mom does.” He sits Clarke on the edge of her frilly white bed and stands in front of her, tugging his shorts down so the rock-hard cock inside springs free. “Remember what I showed you when I did it to myself this morning?” he asks, and she nods. “Okay. Now it’s your turn. Make me come with your hands, sweet girl. Show me what you learned.”

She strokes him slow and careful, dry warm hands gliding up and down the shaft of his cock until she starts to see dewy little drops of liquid begin to seep out the tiny slit in the tip. “Why don’t you rub that all over,” he murmurs, “so Daddy’s nice and wet.”  
  
“Does it feel nicer for you that way too?” she asks, looking up at him. “Like it does for me?”  
  
He nods. “Daddy likes it really wet,” he murmurs. “Wet and messy is my favorite way.”  
  
Clarke thinks for a minute, then slips a hand inside her own panties, where she’s soaked from Marcus fingering her all afternoon long, and coats her fingers in slick, sticky warmth before rubbing it all over Marcus’ warm, hard cock. “There,” she says, eyes wide and innocent. “Did that help? Is that better?”  
  
Marcus can’t answer. He swallows hard, over and over again, a hot red flush sweeping over his face and down to his bare chest. His hands in her hair are trembling.  
  
“Do that again,” he whispers, so low she can hardly hear him. “Oh, please, Clarke. Please. Do that again.”  
  
So she does, scooping up warm wetness in her fingers and lifting it out of her soaked white panties to make Marcus’ cock shiny and slick. He closes his eyes as she strokes him. “Stand up,” he murmurs. “Stand up, baby, come here, I have to kiss you, I have to . . . oh fuck, oh fuck . . .”  
  
So she stands obediently, reaching up on tiptoes so he can reach her mouth, and gasps in shock as he seizes her face, rough, wild, desperate, and kisses her with wild abandon. It’s like watching people kiss in the movies, it’s like she’s a woman, it makes her all shivery and gives her goosebumps. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he groans as he pulls away. “Touching yourself and then touching me. Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop, get your hand wet and then jerk me off, hold me tight, let me pretend like I’m in you, like I’m fucking you, please, baby, please.”  
  
Clarke thinks she might come just from this, from him begging her for something like she’s the one with all the control. She steps in close, tugs her panties down to her ankles, and begins to move her hand wetly between her cunt and his cock as he clutches at her hair and kisses her over and over, groaning shattered repetitions of “yes, yes” into her mouth and cheek and throat.  
  
Once he’s dripping wet, she pulls away enough to sit back down on the edge of the bed, to get to eye level. “You said it likes kisses,” she reminds him, and he groans with his whole body.  
  
“You’re skipping ahead one lesson, baby girl,” he cautions her.  
  
“I’m ready,” she promises him. “I can do it. I want to.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Because this is daddy’s favorite way, he’s been dreaming about you doing this to him for a long, long time.”  
  
She looks up at him, a question in her eyes. “You mean before?” she asks him innocently. “Before last night?”  
  
“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I wanted you even before then.”  
  
This makes her heart start to beat a little faster. Knowing he isn’t really just teaching her, he isn’t really doing her a favor. The thing he does with Mom, he wants to do it with her too. Really wants to. The thought of it is making him all flushed and shaky.  
  
She runs gentle fingertips up and down his shaft, lifting it to her mouth, and kisses the tip, so gently, so softly, just a light press of lips against skin. He groans from deep and low in his belly. “Kiss it the way I kiss you, baby,” he murmurs. “With your mouth open. With your tongue. See all that shiny wetness on Daddy’s cock? I want you to lick me and suck me until that’s all clean. Lick yourself off my cock, Princess. Can you do that?”  
  
She nods. Simple. Of course she can. She’ll do anything that makes him look at her like that.


	6. Chapter 6

She’s shy at first, but it’s impossible to resist when he’s looking at her with that wild, fierce hunger in his eyes, cupping her face with his big hands and stroking her hair.  She gives him a soft, experimental lick, up at the tip where it’s all pink and smooth and gleaming with wetness, and he makes that grunting sound she loves so much, which makes her smile.  He’s too big to fit into her mouth all the way, but she can take the whole tip inside, the pink part that’s flared like the cap of a mushroom, she can wrap her lips around it and look up at her daddy and smile with her mouth full of cock as he cradles her cheeks and whispers, “Oh, that’s it, baby girl.  That’s perfect.  Just like that.”  Inside her mouth, she lets her tongue roam all over the smooth surface.  It’s a strange sensation, to hold something so big and so warm and so heavy in her mouth and just keep it there, and she’s embarrassed at first to feel the wetness begin to pool around it, trickling down the flesh.  But his eyes widen at this, he doesn’t seem to mind it, so this must be the right way to do it.  When her mouth overfills with saliva, she gamely struggles to swallow, involuntarily sucking hard around the cock in her mouth as she does, and Marcus makes a sound she’s never heard before, a gasp so sharp she’s afraid for a moment that she’s hurt him until she looks up and sees the wild light in his eyes.  More? She asks him wordlessly, and he nods. 

So she sucks diligently and carefully, letting her tongue swirl around and around the tip like licking an ice cream cone, and trembles with pleasure at the sound of his groaning.  He’s gentle with her, but firm and clear, and she learns what he likes very quickly.  When his hand slides up into her hair to caress the back of her head and apply very light pressure, she knows it means he wants her to try going a little deeper, so she opens up wider to let the heavy weight bump over her tongue and further into her mouth.  It feels so weird but so good, and she likes the way he tastes, all warm and salty. 

“I want you to come with me,” he whispers as she slurps wetly around his cock, looking up at him.  “Baby, reach over and get your vibrator for Daddy, I want to watch you make yourself feel good at the same time.  Can you hold onto me with one hand and play with yourself at the same time?”

She nods, mouth still full, and fumbles blindly without pulling away until her hands locate the little pink vibrator on the nightstand, which she slips inside her soaked panties, letting the head just nudge at her clit.  “Ready?” he asks, and she nods.  “Not a race this time,” he cautions her.  “See how close you can get us to come together.  I want to come when my baby girl comes.”  She nods again, brow furrowed in concentration.  This will be tricky – she’ll need to figure out the signs that he’s close and make sure she gets the pace right – but she’s aching between the thighs at the thought of coming at the same time.

Switching on the vibrator changes everything.  Her humming moans and sighs of pleasure reverberate around the hot weight in her mouth, so her pleasure brings him pleasure.  She squirms and wriggles, pleasure sparking through her, and she can feel Marcus’ intent gaze as she lets the little plastic tip buzz against her clit.

“Why don’t you lift my cock up against my stomach and lick the underside of it,” he murmurs, “right along the big vein.  Daddy really likes it like that.”

The shivery-sweet feeling of the vibrator against her clit makes her feel a little bit wild, a little bit reckless, and she wants to taste him there so bad, so when she lifts his cock to lick him she doesn’t hold back.  It’s messy and noisy and sticky and wet and she likes the way the ridged vein feels under her tongue, likes the way Daddy grunts with rough, startled pleasure when her little pink tongue pokes at the very tippy-top where the big vein meets the puffy pink head, or when she slides all the way to the bottom where the big heavy balls rest at the base.  Impulsively, she pulls one into her mouth, wondering how it will feel, and Marcus gasps.  He likes that.  She moves her mouth around it, wetly, messily, letting it shift around inside, like chewing but without teeth, just playing with it to see what it feels like.  The grunts are coming harder and faster now, he’s moaning her name like he’s close, so she switches to the other one and takes it inside her mouth too, smiling up at the stunned look of pleasure on Marcus’ wide-eyed face. 

She’s getting really, really close now, little fireworks rippling between her thighs from deep inside and pressure mounting like it’s about to happen.  And the big, shining dick in her hand is twitching and trembling and she bets Marcus is pretty close too, so she takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the feeling of that hot burst of whiteness she got to see in the shower, only now instead of on her skin it will be in her mouth.  She’s a little nervous, but more curious than scared.

“Open up as wide as you can, baby girl,” Marcus whispers, caressing her cheeks before gripping his dick in one big hand.  “You can let go, you can use those hands on yourself.  I’ll hold on and keep it in place, okay? Just keep your mouth open and relax your throat, and breathe.”

She nods, feeling a flutter in her stomach, and squeezes her eyes closed to concentrate, one hand petting the damp hair of her cunt while the other keeps the vibrator going.  She feels Marcus place a steadying hand on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair, as with his other hand he pushes his dick deeper into her mouth, bit by bit by bit.  It’s startling at first, and all her happy little sighs of pleasure are turned into muffled wet gurgling noises by the presence of this massive warm thing sliding slowly backwards over her lips and teeth and tongue, but Marcus seems to like the noises, so she doesn’t feel embarrassed.  She’s a little bit afraid of choking, but he goes so slow, and he’s so tender as he strokes her hair and murmurs her name, that she can remember to breathe through her nose and stay relaxed.  He can’t fit all the way inside, there’s too much of him, but he finds a depth they both like and begins to pump in and out just a tiny bit.  She squeezes her lips tight around him, and he groans a rough “Yes,” so she presses tighter.  It makes her feel all shivery, like he’s fucking her mouth, like this is what it will feel like when they do it for real, that hot heavy wet slide, in and out, in and out, as he grunts her name. 

She beats him by only a second, the vibrator tumbling out of her hand onto the floor as her whole body convulses and she cries out, but muffled by saliva and cock.  “Did you make yourself come for Daddy?” Marcus whispers, and she nods, still shaking, and then he gets there too.

She squeaks an astonished, wet, gurgling exclamation as the hot liquid begins to pour into her throat, she can’t help it, she got distracted by her own orgasm and now her mouth is filling up faster than she can swallow as Marcus pumps his dick, hand flying hard and fast, squeezing out every last drop.  It spills out over her lips and chin, she can’t hold onto it all, even after the heavy weight slides back over her lips and out again.  It’s salty and bitter and strange and interesting and she doesn’t not like the taste, but there’s just so much of it, it looked like a lot less when they were in the shower, but she’s afraid of making a mess, of doing it wrong by accident, so she tries valiantly to swallow it all down.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and then suddenly in one swift movement she’s on her back and he’s on top of her, his mouth on hers, gently pulling the warm liquid she’s holding inside her mouth into his own so she can swallow and breathe again.  They kiss for a long time, wet, sticky, the liquid flowing back and forth, it’s the weirdest feeling Clarke’s ever had but she doesn’t want it to stop.  His kisses soothe her, and she came pretty hard, so she’s feeling all soft and melty and happy and relaxed, so she doesn’t protest when she feels him scoop up the cum on her cheeks and chin and neck and reach down between her thighs with wet sticky fingers.  She doesn’t have any idea what he’s about to do until he does it.

 _“Oh!”_ she cries out, sharp and startled, as one strong, warm, wet finger crooks upwards inside of her, causing a brief flash of pain and a shock of pressure, and instantly he’s right there, his other hand stroking her hair, his tongue gently bathing her mouth with soft kisses, licking her clean, murmuring in her ear, “Shhhhh, baby, just breathe, just relax for Daddy, you’re ready to lean how this part feels now.”

“You’re _inside_ me,” she whispers breathlessly, heart pounding, astonished at the feeling of movement and pressure, pain subsiding and replaced by something new, realizing it feels _good,_ the way his finger slides in and out, the way it moves around, the way it . . .

. . . the way it . . .

_Oh . . ._

_Oh God . . ._

He curls his finger like he’s beckoning to her and he touches some spot she didn’t even know about and suddenly she understands why this is the part everybody likes so much.  _“Daddy,”_ she gasps, reaching up and clutching his face in both hands, “Daddy, is this what it’s going to feel like?  Like this, but more?”

He kisses her, hard.  “Like this, but so much more,” he promises, caressing her hair.  “Like this, but even better.”

“I like it so much,” she whimpers as he keeps gently rubbing that deep-inside place with his fingertip, making her squirm, making her wriggle against him.  “It’s so good, Daddy.  I like it so much.”

He shifts his weight so he’s lying fully atop her, his hand pressed between both their bodies.  “Lift your hips up and down, baby girl,” he whispers, “if you want more you can take as much more as you want.”

“Like we’re . . . like we’re f – “

“Say it, Princess.”

“Like we’re fucking.”

“Mmmmm,” he moans as his lips brush up and down her neck, making goosebumps rise up all over her skin.  “Yes, baby.  Like we’re fucking.  Pretend like we’re fucking.”

So she does.  She wraps her arms around his warm strong back and digs her fingers into the skin, like she’s seen them do on television, and she lets her slim little hips slam up to pull his finger deeper inside as he buries his mouth in her neck.  His finger’s a lot smaller than his cock, but she’s so tight that it’s all she can take right now, and it’s enough to let her pretend.  She imagines him driving into her, grunting, groaning, that massive dick gliding smoothly into a cunt that’s finally stretched out enough to hold it. 

When she comes, she almost screams.  It feels totally different this way, it takes her completely by surprise, and she’s so startled she holds on tight to Marcus like she’s going to lose her balance, even though she’s flat on her back.

He holds her close as she trembles and comes back down to earth, sweaty and sticky and exhausted, eyes wide and dazed.

“Did that feel good, Princess?” he murmurs into her ear as he curls up beside her, causing a fierce surge of delight in her chest (he’s going to fall asleep beside her, he’s going to stay all night).  She nods happily, wriggling into his arms and nuzzling deep into his chest.

“I love you so much,” she whispers.  “Everything you do feels so good.”

“I’m so glad.”  He kisses the top of her head.  “That’s all I want.”

“Will you help me be ready so we can do it for real?” she asks, looking up at him, a plea in her eyes.  “I want to so bad.  But I think you were right, I can’t . . . couldn’t  . . . not yet.”

He smiles and kisses her, switching off the beside lamp.  “I promise,” he tells her gently.  “I promise, baby.  I want it too.”  He strokes her hair.  “You turn sixteen in two months,” he reminds her.  “That’s plenty of time.”

She lights up.  “For my birthday?”

“For your birthday,” he promises.  “At the stroke of midnight.  Sixteen is a big year; I want the very first thing you experience to be me showing you how much I love you.”

“But I really have to wait two months?”

He chuckles, kissing her hair.  “Don’t worry,” he says lightly.  “There’s so many other things we can find to fill that time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he says, and she closes her eyes, drifting off to sleep in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Clarke has always been a good student, and she takes this assignment seriously, like it's a test she has to prepare for and Christmas morning all wrapped up in one.

Two months until Daddy gives her his birthday present.

Two months to get ready, so she can have the thing she wants most in the whole world.

They have a lot of work to do, to make sure when the time comes that everything feels good, like it's supposed to.  She's still too tight, too new at this, to take anything even a fraction the size of Marcus' cock.  But she's getting better, she can take little things inside her now - his finger, the cute pink vibrator - with ease, and is beginning to learn how good it can really feel.  They fall into a kind of role-play with it, where Marcus makes her call it “fucking” even though it isn't, really; he just really likes to hear her say it.  It's not quite a _real_ fuck, but it's _almost,_ it’s as close as they can get right now, Clarke on her back with her little hands pumping Daddy’s cock while he thrusts on top of her, sliding the little pink vibrator in and out of her cunt and grunting with pleasure as he kisses her golden curls.  The almost-ness of it makes her _crazy,_ it's _so close,_ so very nearly what she wants, but just far enough away to feel like torture even though it's so yummy too.  But the pretending turns her on, that big warm body on top of hers, feeling his hips move up and down like they’ll do when he’s finally inside her.  She goes to a dazed, dizzy place sometimes when she comes where she can almost, _almost_ pretend it’s real.  “More, Daddy,” she pleads as he slides the vibrator deeper, and is rewarded by a stunned gasp of pleasure as her deft little fingers tickle the little slit at the head of his cock, the spot she likes to tease with her tongue to make him come.  Sometimes they come so close together, arms wrapped around each other's backs, lips pressed together, that Clarke feels like she's beginning to imagine what it will feel like for real, when he comes inside her cunt instead of her hand, when it's his cock sliding wetly out of her instead of a slim piece of pink plastic.

Two months feels like forever.

She’s a quick study, and everything he does to her feels good, everything makes her come, so by the end of the second week it already feels like there’s nothing they haven’t tried.  They grow bolder, leaving the confines of Clarke's bed and the shower to experiment in other places.  (Not Mom and Daddy's bed, he's very stern about that; that's for her birthday only.  But the rest of the house is fair game, and awakens a delight in playing sexy games of pretend.  One night Marcus puts on his most stern and serious voice to tell Clarke that "good little girls eat their daddies before their dinner," and won't let her go get her plate from the kitchen until she kneels under the dining room table, unzips his jeans, and devours his cock while he strokes her hair and sips his glass of wine.  Once he's come in her mouth (not a drop spilled, she's very proud), he pulls her up to sit on his lap, kissing her rough and hard, and whispers, "good girl.  Now go eat your dinner, and then you can be my dessert."  And he's as good as his word; after she's finished her pasta and washed the dishes, he brings out a bowl of strawberries and cream, Clarke's favorite, and drops to his own knees beneath the table to slowly, patiently devour her cunt while she leans back in her chair, swooning in ecstasy, and eats the whole bowl of strawberries. 

Clarke also learns, almost by accident, about a secret thing Marcus loves to have done to him, after he tries it on her for the first time.  She's lying on her stomach, face buried in pillows, as he teases the soft wet lips of her cunt with the vibrator, but she starts almost violently in shock, cheeks flushing hot and red, as the slick, wet, buzzing tip glides out of her cunt, between the smooth white round cheeks of her ass, and begins to caress a spot Clarke never thought in a million years that people ever touched each other like this.  She's so embarrassed that he's looking at her there, but Daddy seems to love it, he can't stop telling her how beautiful her ass is, kissing the swell of white flesh, so she squints her eyes closed and bites her lip and lets him do it, and then _oh, oh, oh God,_ how come no one ever told her about this before?  It's amazing, she comes so hard she feels a little dizzy, like the bed is spinning, like she's falling through space.  After that, it gets added to her list of favorite treats.  And then, a few days later, to his, after her innocent fingers slide up his thighs to repay the favor while she kneels in front of him to suck his cock, and he makes a strangled, desperate noise she’s never heard him make before.  Daddy, it turns out, likes the little pink vibrator too.

By the end of the first month, she’s outgrown the little vibrator and can take three whole fingers inside, so Marcus takes her shopping. 

They can't go anyplace where they might run into anybody they know, of course, so they drive about forty-five minutes to a neighboring town with a super-ritzy shopping district, the kind of place Clarke's forever begging Mom to buy her new clothes for school and Mom always laughs and says "no freaking way."  It's safer than shopping closer to home, but there's still a thrill of danger about going out in public with him that makes Clarke feel nervous excited butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

She doesn't have a fake ID, and the store he's taking her to is 18+ only, but he's confident he can bluff their way in.  He dresses Clarke himself, borrowing a black wool dress from Mom and a pair of her business lady high heels, which are a little too big.  He even puts the clothes on her, sucking both her nipples before he locks them away inside her black bra, and kissing her neck as he zips her into the dress, which makes her feel like a grownup woman.  Then he gets dressed too - wearing a crisp black business suit with the black-and-gold tie Clarke gave him for his birthday last year, which she saved up her allowance money for and has always been one of his favorites - as Clarke does her makeup with meticulous care and then pulls her curls back into a sleek french twist.  They stand side by side, looking at each other in the mirror, and Clarke swallows hard.  She looks ten years older, and like she belongs with him.  She could be any pretty young woman with an older lover.  "In France, we'd blend right in," Marcus remarks.

"Let's go to France for my birthday, then," Clarke says recklessly, which makes him laugh, and back her up against the bathroom vanity a little bit like he wants to kiss her, like he can't keep her hands off her, but they don't have time to redo her makeup all over again, so regretfully, he pulls away and manages to hold himself back. 

After all, this is a big day.

The store where Raven bought her the little vibrator is downtown, surrounded by a bunch of bars and with black paper over the windows and a neon sign that blinks unevenly, and Clarke’s bus goes right past it after school but she’s never been brave enough to go in.  But the place Marcus takes her too is nothing like that at all.  It’s all pink and white, with big windows and soft classical music playing and carpets so deep Clarke’s heels sink into them, and everything for sale is displayed beautifully, like art (even though it's art Clarke can't quite bring herself to look directly at, in _public_ , without biting her lip and blushing.  Every time Marcus reaches out to lift up a particular toy and examine it, Clarke knows exactly what he's thinking - he's imagining it inside her cunt, he's thinking about how he'll use it to make her come - and has to stare down at the floor for a moment or her entire artificial posture will crumble into hot pink embarrassment.

The sign over the door says "NIYLAH'S" in big swirling rose-gold lettering, so Clarke assumes the beautiful blonde woman behind the counter is Niylah.  She's clearly friendly with Marcus, emerging to greet him with a very European kiss on each cheek that makes Clarke wish she were really as much older and more sophisticated as she's pretending to be.  Niylah gives Clarke an appraising look up and down, which makes Clarke feel all shivery; she's so pretty, slender and petite with a long loose braid draped over her shoulder, and if she didn't seem so nice it would be mortifying to know that a total stranger knows this much about what's been going on between her and Marcus.

Marcus holds her hand as they walk through the store, his grip easy and proprietary at the same time.  It feels strange but delicious to be out in public with him like this, like she’s his lover, talking to the beautiful store manager about every most private thing like it’s perfectly ordinary.  “At least two, I think, in ascending sizes,” he's saying, and Clarke realizes with a blush she tries to suppress that Marcus and Niylah are having a frank conversation about what toys he should buy to stretch out her little cunt so his cock will fit inside her.  They’re discussing silicone texturing and comparing brands of lubricant like they’re talking about the weather, as Clarke wanders around the store with wide, dazzled eyes, stroking beautiful, sleek toys in every shade of pink and purple and white and gold, wondering what Marcus will bring home to put inside her, wondering what new ways Niylah will help him find to make her come.

He doesn’t let her see the final purchases – they’re wrapped up in gorgeous black boxes with pink bows by the time she makes her way to the register – but he does relent and agree to buy her the pair of fuzzy purple handcuffs she spots with delight on her way out the door.  But they’re not done for the day yet, she learns, as he leads her down the block to a posh little jewel box of a lingerie boutique with all kind of sexy silky things in the window. 

The elegant woman behind this counter doesn't bat an eyelash at them any more than Niylah did; she looks Clarke up and down with a professional's eye, assessing her measurements at a glance, then taking her firmly in hand and steering her from rack to rack, loading her arms with piles of satin and lace.  And Marcus picks out some things too, adding them to her pile with a silent, warm look behind the saleslady's back which whispers _I want to look at you in this._ This is all secret, too, she’ll have to hide them all from Mom, do the laundry herself and keep everything someplace Mom won’t think to look. But it's worth it, to have something so grownup and beautiful to wear when Daddy comes to her bed.

The dressing rooms are private, curtained off from each other with purple drapes.  Marcus takes a seat in a plush white velvet armchair facing the dressing room door, leaning back with his legs crossed, sleek and perfect in his black suit.  He tells her to pick out everything she feels most beautiful in, without looking at the price tag, and to come out and show him her favorites.  The moment she does, they're both extremely glad the dressing rooms are private; Marcus' cock surges to life in his lap at the sight of Clarke in a sheer cherry-red negligee, and it only goes downhill from there.  Bras and panties and nighties and slips and a satin robe, all in a rainbow of frothy colors.  Marcus uncrosses his legs and spreads them wide, leaning back in the armchair, as he waits to see each outfit.  Finally, Clarke settles on a pink and white sheer lace negligee with matching panties (because it makes Marcus swallow hard and re-cross his legs when she pulls back the dressing room curtain) and three pairs of bras and panties with lace and silky trim.  Marcus picks out something else he doesn’t let her see (“your birthday present,” he tells her when she tries to snatch the bag and peek) and then throws in the silky little black robe he picked out, too.  It’s so short it hardly covers her ass, but she can tell he’s thinking about unwrapping her in it like a present, and then they're both so turned on they can’t quite look at each other until they’re out of the store and back in the car. 

There's no time to wait until they get back home, they don't even make it out of the parking lot, pulling into a shady abandoned corner so Clarke can lean over from the passenger seat and unzip Daddy's pants, her perfect grownup lady makeup smearing messily as she takes the cock she's been aching for all the way inside and bobs up and down until he comes hard, pouring salty wetness down her thirsty little throat.  Then she reclines her seat back and he returns the favor, hitching up the tight wool skirt of Mom's dress to slide his fingers inside her soaked cotton panties and curl them perfectly inside her until she comes with a little scream, hips jerking up off the car seat over and over.

Marcus has a meeting this afternoon, so they can’t test out any of the new purchases until later that night, and she faithfully promises not to peek in any of the boxes.  But it isn’t really cheating to play around in the shopping bag full of silky things, because after all she helped pick them out; so when he comes home a few hours later, he finds her waiting at the door in a tiny pair of pale blue silk panties with a lacy matching bra, underneath the black silk robe. 

“I was going to suggest we eat dinner first,” he says, swallowing hard as he drops his briefcase and kicks the front door closed, “but I don’t think I can wait.”

“Dinner after,” Clarke insists, pouting a little.  “I want to see my presents.”

Marcus’ mouth curls up into a sly, delighted grin.

“Bossy little girls get spankings, not treats,” he warns her, lightly smacking her ass to make her giggle as she races upstairs with him in hot pursuit. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a frankly unbelievable number of requests in the comments, Abby shows up in this chapter, and even though there's no full-on Clarke/Abby incest, it goes to, like . . . some boundary-crossing places. So skip this chapter if that's your squick place. More pure Kane/Clarke will return in the next chapter. 
> 
> Sorry for the many months of delay and thanks so much for all your comments! Hoping to be able to update more regularly soon.

Two weeks later, Mom comes home.

Their lessons have been progressing very well.  Clarke’s graduated from the tiny plastic vibrator Raven bought her to a dizzying array of far more luxe toys purchased with care by Marcus, coated in velvety silicon and offering a range of shapes and sizes.  He bought four dildo-shaped ones (plus a host of other treats for her ass, nipples and clit) in ascending sizes, and she’s already moved up from the smallest.  She likes #2 a lot, it has a gentle curve and it feels like a caress on the inside; it’s thicker than the first one, stretching her open, and even the little bit of soreness the first time is delicious because she knows it’s all practice to open up her little cunt to take Daddy’s cock inside her for real in just under six more weeks.

The lingerie makes everything feel naughtier and more dangerous, too; sometimes Clarke wears the racy, erotic lace-and-satin things underneath her jeans and sweater to school, just for the pleasure of coming home in the afternoon and letting Daddy be surprised when he strips her out of them.  The bras push her sweet soft little breasts up and in, making them feel fuller, bigger, heavier, making her feel womanly, letting Daddy nuzzle deep into them and thrust his tongue hard and hungry into the tight little valley between them as she whimpers with pleasure and fists his hair. 

Everything – the toys, the clothes, the fuzzy purple handcuffs she likes him to use when they play pretend – lives in a box under Clarke’s bed, and they’re vigilant about not leaving anything out around the house, even by accident.  The cleaning lady comes every other week, and from time to time Clarke has school friends over to study (or, in Raven’s case, to make out on the couch), and the thought of anyone finding the box of vibrators is mortifying.

But it’s Mom she’s worried about the most.

She’s been gone for weeks and weeks, and she’s only got about a two-week break to come back home before she has to leave again, and both Clarke and Marcus miss her desperately.  But Clarke’s scared, too.  Will Mom be able to see it on her face?  Will she yell, or cry?  Will she feel betrayed, or jealous, or angry when she finds out?  Will it change her relationship with Marcus?  Has Clarke ruined their marriage? 

It's easy to hide from these fears with Marcus’ lips wrapped around her clit, his beard tickling the soft wet folds of her labia as he glides a lube-slicked vibrator in and out of her cunt.  It’s easy not to think about Mom when she’s on her knees in front of the sofa, a warm, pulsing dick in her mouth and a pair of tender, affectionate hands in her hair, savoring that low grunting sound she loves so much.  It’s easy not to think about Mom then.

But then she comes back, and there’s nowhere to hide.

Clarke’s first fear is assuaged almost immediately.  She skips volleyball practice to head home right after school, and takes a cab instead of the bus, so she’s nearly three hours earlier than they were expecting her . . . a fact which becomes increasingly clear the second she steps inside.

They didn’t even make it up the stairs to their bedroom.  The sounds are coming from the kitchen.

Clarke closes the door behind her in silence, heart pounding, face hot red and flushed.  She hasn’t felt this exact rush of sensations – panic, horror, arousal, curiosity, mortification – since that very first night when she walked in on them, too young to even know what she was seeing then.  But of course there’s no mystery to it now.  Now she’s been initiated.  She’s made these sounds for him too. 

She knows what she needs to do.  She needs to leave, wait until they’re finished, and come back home at the appropriate time, opening the door with a lot of noise so they hear her and have time to prepare, so no one’s embarrassed. 

She knows she should.

But she can’t.

Her hands are shaking and her stomach is churning and she feels a little sick, even as she can feel wetness pooling between her thighs.  This time, she doesn’t have the excuse of being a little girl wandering the halls to explore a curious sound.  This time she has to admit the dirty, humiliating, shameful truth:

She wants to see it.

Silently, she steps out of her shoes and sets down her bag inside the front door, closing it soundlessly behind her.  The grunting noises don’t flag even for a moment.  They haven’t heard her.  She pads on bare quiet feet down the hall until the kitchen doorway comes into view, pressing her body against the wall to avoid being seen.  She comes at them from an angle, and freezes in her tracks at the sight in front of her.

Marcus is standing with his back pressed against the kitchen counter, hands gripping the sides, head flung back.  His eyes are closed, and he’s groaning heavily with pleasure. 

Mom is on her knees on the kitchen floor, her back almost completely to Clarke, and she’s giving him a blowjob.

A really, really good one.

Clarke swallows hard, licking her lips almost involuntarily. She can almost taste him.  Mom’s wet, hungry, suckling noises are achingly familiar. 

Beneath the twisty tangle of sensations in her gut, Clarke detects something like pure, ecstatic relief. 

She hasn’t ruined anything.

Marcus is utterly blissed out, hips rocking into Mom’s mouth, a smile tugging at his lips, murmuring her name in the same tones he uses for Clarke, stroking Mom’s soft thick hair with his big hands.  So content.  So in love with her.  Clarke can only see a slice of Mom’s profile, but she can tell Mom’s smiling, looking up at Marcus as her lips suck hard at the head of his cock, hands expertly gliding up and down the shaft.  She knows all kinds of tricks Clarke’s never seen before, she does a thing where she kind of rotates her wrists as she strokes him, in opposite directions, instead of just going straight up and down.  And when she takes him deep (she can take him all the way, Clarke notices with admiration), her fingers reach back to stroke him in that patch of sensitive skin behind his balls, which makes his whole body shudder.

Clarke is terrified from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes that they’ll open their eyes and turn and see her and she’ll die of humiliation.  But she can’t move.  Everything about this is wrong – it feels, somehow, so much more wicked to watch Mom suck Marcus’ dick than even doing it herself – but she can’t look away. 

You’re not supposed to think about your parents doing this stuff.  You’re definitely not supposed to  _ watch _ it. 

But Clarke’s panties are absolutely soaked, and she’s biting her lip to keep from moaning right along with them.  It’s shockingly erotic to watch Marcus like this, to just stand a distance while he’s being fucked and to take him in.  And there’s something wrong and dirty and delicious in watching Mom do the thing she does, and wondering if it feels different to Marcus. 

Then the unthinkable happens.  Marcus, his whole body rocking forward in a bone-deep shudder as Mom wraps her lips around the base of his shaft, devouring his whole dick at once, opens his eyes.

He sees her.

They both freeze, staring at each other, and Clarke feels like a kid again, ashamed and humiliated and terrified she’s about to be in trouble.  She’s frantically willing her feet to move, to bolt, to run out of the house, when he does the thing he does next.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs, ostensibly to Mom but really to Clarke, as his hands tangle in Mom’s hair to hold her firmly in place on his cock.  “That’s perfect, baby.  Don’t move.  Right there.”  His hands cup Mom’s temples, and Clarke realizes that he’s blocking her peripheral vision even as he holds her in place; even if Mom opened her eyes right now (she pressed them closed when she opened up her mouth to deep-throat him), she wouldn’t see Clarke standing in the hallway behind her.

Then he smiles at Clarke, and gives the tiniest, most imperceptible nod.

He’s inviting her closer.

She bites her lip, hesitating, but he smiles again, nodding his head.  The meaning is unmistakable.  He isn’t angry, isn’t judging her, isn’t embarrassed.  His eyes drift down from Clarke’s own to stare meaningfully at her skirt, and she swallows hard, but follows his silent command, her fingers drifting silently beneath the cotton waistband and into her soaked lace panties.  He nods, pleased, and removes a hand from Mom’s hair just long enough to blow Clarke a kiss.  “That’s good,” he murmurs, as Clarke’s fingers move against her clit, not fifteen feet behind her mother’s back.  “Mmmm.  Yes.  God, that’s so good.” 

When they shift position, he does it so masterfully that Mom’s head never changes angle, keeping Clarke hidden in the hallway shadows.  He keeps his hands cupped around her face, pulling her gently off his cock and up to his mouth where he seizes her in a kiss so wild, so ferocious, that she closes her eyes and dissolves into him as he tugs open the sash of her wrap dress and pulls aside her panties.  Clarke feels heat sweep over her whole body, fingers moving faster and faster on her clit, that churning sensation of mortified arousal twisting deeper and deeper in her gut, as Marcus slides one hand down to cup Mom’s ass and lift her thigh around his hips, leaning her back against the kitchen island, and then with one smooth push he’s inside her.

It's easy for him to keep Mom from spotting Clarke, after that.  He kisses her a lot, or sometimes wraps her up so tight in his arms that she can’t do anything but nuzzle into his chest and kiss his neck, the way Clarke likes to do, lips moving hungrily over that spot below his ear he likes the best.  Mom’s noises make Clarke feel strange all over, just like they did the first time, like her body knows she’s not supposed to be watching this or even hearing it; but she can’t tear her eyes away from watching Marcus fuck, watching Mom receive with easy pleasure the gift he’s been practicing for weeks to be able to give her, gazing with envy at how smoothly he plunges straight inside her with no resistance at all.  He must have gone down on her first, Clarke thinks, cheeks flushing hot red.  Mom must be wet already, or she wouldn’t be this comfortable taking him in all at once.

She can’t stop the picture of it . . . Marcus on his knees, worshiping Mom’s cunt the way he does Clarke’s, nuzzling at it, licking, sucking, making those happy wet grunting pleasure noises like he can’t get enough of the taste . . .

She comes silently with a full-body shudder as Marcus watches her, eyes warm and hungry on hers.  But “Don’t stop,” he mouths to her, over her mother’s shoulder, when he sees her hesitate and begin to withdraw her hand.  “Stay.”

No sound comes out, Mom doesn’t see it, but Clarke understands. 

The fucking begins to accelerate, and Mom’s little gasps become sharp, desperate cries. She wraps both her arms around his neck, hitching her thigh higher to take more, more, more.  Mom’s beautiful, she’s always been beautiful, but Clarke’s never seen her as somebody sexy; nobody sees their mom that way, probably.  But she looks like a porn star now, practically, her dress halfway off her shoulder, black lace bra strap slipping down, hair wild and messy, as her leg wraps around Marcus’ hip and she practically screams with pleasure.  When she comes, Clarke feels herself come again, with a sick little knot of guilt in her stomach.

“Oh God, I missed this,” Mom laughs weakly into Marcus’ chest, whole body trembling.  “God, you feel so good.”

Marcus holds her close, slows down his pace, thrusting slow and smooth and deep, stroking her hair with impossible tenderness.  Then he says something that’s almost more shocking to Clarke than anything that’s happened so far.

“Oh yeah?” he laughs, teasingly.  “Roan falling down on the job over there, is he?”

Mom laughs.  “He gets the job done,” she chuckles, “but he’s not you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“He says hi, by the way.”

“Tell him I said hi back.  I’m glad he’s – oh, right there, baby, stay right there on me, that’s it – I’m glad he’s taking good care of you.”

Mom looks up at him, cupping his face in her hands.  “Has anyone been taking care of you?” she asks, voice gentle, no judgment, and Marcus very very carefully doesn’t take his eyes away from hers, doesn’t even flick so much as a glance up at Clarke.  He gives a faint nod that makes Clarke feel sick with panic.  But Mom doesn’t flinch, her expression doesn’t even changed.  “Are you . . . like we talked about?”  He nods again.  “And it’s going okay?”  He nods again.

Clarke thinks she might throw up, or faint, or crumble into a hundred thousand million tiny pieces.

_ Mom knows.  Mom knows.  Mom knows. _  Mom has some other man half a world away with her that shares her bed sometimes, while Marcus is here, while Marcus is here buying vibrators for Clarke, and  _ Mom knows, _ and Clarke wants to die.

And then Mom smiles.

She pulls Marcus’ face down to hers, kisses him tenderly, and cups his face in her hands.  “You’re taking good care of her?” she asks gently, and he nods.

“I promised you I would,” he murmurs. 

“That’s all I need to hear,” she says, and kisses him again.  “Now come inside me, baby.  I can feel how bad you need to.  Come inside me.”

Marcus wraps Mom in his arms, and for the first time he appears to have forgotten Clarke’s there.  He kisses the top of her head.  “I love you so damn much, Abby,” he whispers.  “I love you both so much.” 

Then he comes with a low, desperate cry, deep inside her, and shudders to a halt, collapsing into her shoulder.  Clarke comes a third time, silent, shaking, overwhelmed, then flees back down the hallway in total silence before either of her parents has recovered.

Half an hour later, when she knocks loudly at the door, Mom answers it, pink-cheeked and relaxed and happy, and pulls her daughter into her arms.

“Oh, my baby,” she murmurs, voice aching with love and happiness, “I’ve missed you so much.”

And Clarke can’t explain it, but something inside her shatters open, something like a weight of miserable guilt being lifted completely, and bursts into tears.

“I missed you too, Mom,” she whispers, sniffling wetly against the now-neatly-retied bodice of Mom’s wrap dress.  “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Mom says back, kissing her head over and over again.  “I love you too.”

* * *

 

Dinner is easy and comfortable, despite the big thing they all know that none of them are saying; it’s just so nice to be a family all together again.  Mom’s full of stories and in a really good mood (for obvious reasons; the image of her arching her back against the kitchen counter to come on Marcus’ cock pops into Clarke’s mind occasionally and makes her fight back a blush).

Clarke’s not sure how this is all going to work now, for the next two weeks while Mom’s home, and she’s not sure how to bring it up because there isn’t a single moment to get Marcus alone; and even if there was, what would she ask?  How would she even start the conversation?

They eat pizza and watch TV together on the couch, both Clarke and Mom curled up against Marcus’ shoulders.  It’s surprising to Clarke that her feelings for Marcus can be so dirty and so innocent at the same time; yes, her whole body is aching for the day to finally come when he can really fuck her, but that doesn’t take away from how nice it feels to snuggle up against him in her pajamas next to Mom so they can all drink tea and watch cooking shows. 

Finally, Mom yawns, stretches, and announces that she’s still jet-lagged and it’s time for bed, even though it’s only nine-thirty.  But she leaves Clarke the remote and tells her she can stay up until eleven if she wants, since it’s Friday and she doesn’t have to do homework tonight.  Then she kisses Clarke on the head, and leads Marcus upstairs to bed.

Clarke’s not really tired, and she would have liked the chance to talk to Marcus, but there was no way to ask him to stay, after he’d kissed her goodnight too and headed upstairs with Mom.  She lingers a little while, flipping through the channels.  Maybe he’ll realize he forgot something and come back downstairs, and then she can ask him what happens now.

She knows what the answer will probably be – she knows they can’t, with Mom in the house – but her heart gives a hopeful little flutter with every creak of the floorboards upstairs, wondering if he’s coming down to see her one last time before bed.  Just a kiss would be enough.  Just to remind herself that she’s still his baby girl, that he loves them both, that no one is replacing anyone.  She knows this, but she wouldn’t mind some reassurance anyway.

But Marcus doesn’t come back.  And it’s about half an hour later, as she’s flipping through the TV channels and hits “mute” by mistake, that she realizes why.

“Oh fuck, Abby,” she hears his distant, muffled grunt from upstairs, and shivers run down her spine.

They think she can’t hear them because she has the television on, so they’re not bothering to keep it down as much as they usually might.

Clarke turns the television back on, and clicks the volume up a few notches. Not enough to annoy them, but enough that they can definitely hear it from their room.  Then she sets down the remote and tiptoes noiselessly up the stairs.

They’ve closed the door all but a crack, which leaves her with two choices: go to her room, where all her toys are, and listen in, or try to sneak a peek through the slit in the open door to see what she can see?

No, she can’t risk the door, she decides.  There’s no way to know which way they’re facing; Mom could see her, and she wouldn’t even have the excuse she’d had earlier today, where she could claim she’d walked in on them by mistake. 

She enters her room silently and undresses without a sound, pulling one of the medium-sized dildos out from the box under her bed and climbing under the covers with it.  The gasping and grunting hasn’t ceased, or even paused, so she knows they haven’t heard her.  Slipping the dildo between her thighs, she’s shocked to realize how wet she is already; the smooth round silicon tip slides in with no resistance, and she bites her lip to keep from moaning.  She closes her eyes in the dark and listens as hard as she can.

She can hear the slap of flesh on flesh.  It’s rough and hard and fast, whatever they’re doing, and they’re enjoying themselves a lot.  From the muffled sounds of her gasps, Clarke wonders if Mom’s on her stomach, with Daddy blanketing her small body and fucking her from behind.  She’s only ever had one picture of it in her mind, all her life, she’s only ever imagined it the way she saw it that first time when she was small, Mom on his lap as he sat up against the headboard.  But she knows so much more now, she know that there are a hundred thousand different ways Marcus likes it, and he probably does them all with Mom. 

And soon he’ll teach them all to her.

“Oh God, honey, right there,” Mom gasps breathlessly, followed by a muffled, trembling cry as she buries her face in the pillow (Clarke thinks) and comes hard.  Clarke feels that now-familiar twist of sick delicious guilt in her belly that she always gets from listening to Mom, and tries to stop herself from coming too, at the exact same moment, but it’s too late.  She was already teetering over the edge, and even pulling the dildo out doesn’t stop it.  She clenches her teeth and her fist to avoid crying out, then sinks back heavily onto the pillows and lightly strokes the tip of the dildo over her clit and labia while she listens to the sound of Marcus approaching his own orgasm.  He comes with a low, animal groan, and Clarke rubs harder and harder at her clit, shaking, shivering as his sound reverberates in her mind, imagining him making that sound as he pours out into her, imagining that big warm sweaty male weight collapsing heavily onto her soft little sixteen-year-old body as he shudders and trembles in her arms, imagining herself holding him and stroking his hair as he goes soft inside her and catches his breath.  She’s watched him come so many times, in her hands, in her mouth, all over her skin, and it’s sometimes almost close enough to feel nearly real when he holds himself above her so she can stroke his cock while he fucks her with a vibrator, but she’s still never gotten to hold him the way Mom does, and she wants it so bad.

She listens to him gasp and shudder and pant as the waves crest over him, rubbing the tip of the dildo over her sensitive clit.  She’s lost in her own imagination, eyes pressed closed, pretending it’s his cock, pretending he’s there, pretending that huge sweet heavy dick is nudging open the folds of her labia, circling her clit, nudging at it, gliding down lower and lower, so he can –

“Shhhhh,” she hears him murmur in her ear, clamping one hand over her mouth so she doesn’t cry out, and as her eyes fly open she realizes she isn’t dreaming. 

“Marcus,” she whispers, and he leans down to kiss her.  Her mouth opens beneath his desperately, hungrily, aching for him, hands tangling in his hair as he sinks down to his knees at the side of her bed.  He’s naked, his cock soft and glistening wet, body sheened in sweat, hair mussed from sex.  Just the sight of him makes her cunt ache.  She pulls away only reluctantly, to catch her breath, but doesn’t let go of him.  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” she says softly, but he shakes his head, smiling.

“Mom was traveling for eighteen hours and hasn’t slept in a day and a half,” he murmurs.  “She crashed hard.”

“I left the TV on.”

“I’ll go turn it off,” he says, kissing her forehead.  “You keep doing what you were doing, and I’ll be right back.”

She sinks back against the pillows, tracing little circles around her clit with the tip of the vibrator, and a few moments later he’s back, closing her door softly behind him and returning to the bed.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispers, sitting up to look at him.  “I thought we would have to wait the whole time.”

“I would never leave you all alone like that,” he tells her.  “I missed you today, baby girl.”

As he approaches the side of her bed, she sits up all the way and swings her legs over so she’s sitting on the edge, and before he can stop her she’s taken the soft, spent cock in her mouth and begun to lick it clean.

“Clarke,” he murmurs, shock in his voice, “Clarke, no, that’s, you don’t want to –“

But she does want to.  She’s on fire with curiosity.  She wants to catalog every way that Mom and her are different.  She doesn’t know why it’s so important, but it is.

She’s tasted herself before; sometimes Daddy likes to watch her lick off her own fingers after he makes her come.  Mom tastes the same, but different.  Clarke can’t quite describe it.  More . . . tart, maybe? It’s hard to put it in words.  Her tongue bathes his heavy, soft dick with wetness, and even though he just came, hard, inside Mom, Clarke can feel it twitch ever so slightly in her mouth and hands.  He’s wincing, desperately sensitive, like her gentle licks almost pain him, but his eyes are wide and dazed and she knows he doesn’t want her to stop.

When she’s kissed him completely clean, he pulls her up to her feet and devours her lips with his own, like he’s trying to pull the taste of Mom back out of her with his own tongue, and she opens up all the way and lets him take everything he wants, moaning happily into his open mouth as he takes her in his arms and lays her back down on the bed.

“I wish it was time already,” she whispers as his big, warm body blankets hers and he leans down to nuzzle shivery, ticklish kisses into her neck.  “I wish it was my birthday now.”

“Soon, baby girl.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Yes, you can.”

She pouts a little at this, and he chuckles.  “I promise it will be worth it,” he murmurs, kissing his way down between her breasts.  “I have lots of plans.”

Clarke sighs happily at this, picturing herself in that big white bed, moaning and gasping and riding him.  Just like Mom likes it.  She knows already that she’ll like it that way too.  

“You’re so wet,” he says in a low voice of surprise, as he gently pulls her labia apart to gaze at her clit.  

“I was listening.”

“I know.”  He gives her cunt a long, slow lick up the center, gathering up her sticky wetness with his tongue.  She wriggles impatiently, greedy for more, but he pulls away, pressing teasing little kisses against her thigh.  “Eavesdropping on Mommy and Daddy,” he remarks wryly.  “Bad girl.”

“Daddy, please . . .” she whimpers, and he chuckles again.  She can tell he’s planning to torture her.  His big hands keep her slim white thighs spread and immobile, so she can’t lift her hips up further into his mouth.  His tongue slides through her folds lazily, unbearably slow, and she feels itchy and desperate and impatient, crawling out of her own skin, desperate for him to give her what she wants but knowing he won’t until he’s good and ready.  His tongue flicks and teases, stirring her close to the beginning of an orgasm and then pulling away until it ebbs away again.  She grips his hair, tugs at it over and over, pleading, but he doesn’t even seem to feel it, just keeps lazily swirling his tongue in circles around her clit.  

It goes on for so long she loses track of time.  “Please,” she moans, “please, please, please,” she whispers it so many times she loses count, until finally in one smooth motion - so fast she doesn’t even see it coming - he’s taken the vibrator she was using and plunged it all the way inside her, shifting his weight so his body can blanket hers again, rocking above her as though they’re really fucking, and it feels so good she can’t even form words anymore.

“You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you, baby?” he murmurs in her ear, and she nods, biting her lip, squirming to take him deeper.  “Waiting for Daddy to fuck you like he fucked Mommy.”

“Yes,” she gasps.  “Yes.”

“I promise you,” he tells her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead as he plunges the vibrator in and out of her now-soaked cunt, “I wish I was fucking you right now as much as you do.”

“Tell me,” she breathes, “I like it when you say it.”

He reaches up with his other hand and cradles her cheek, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face.  “I want to fuck you,” he pants, and Clarke can feel his cock stirring to life against her thigh.  She wraps one arm around his back and slides the other one down to take hold of his cock.  “I want to fuck you, baby.”

“It’s not enough, like this,” she gasps as he twists the smooth silicon inside her and taps against her G-spot.  “It’s so good, everything feels so good, but I want more.”

“Just a little while longer.”

“I want to make you come,” she whispers, gliding her thumb over the tip of his cock the way she knows he likes, feeling his whole body flinch at her delicate touch.  “Can I make you come?  Has it been enough time?”

“You make me so hard,” he murmurs into her neck, “I love the way you touch me, I love the way you make me feel . . . you make me ready so fast . . .”

“I’m so close,” she tells him, “slow down so I can catch up.”

“Clarke . . . “

“I want to come with you, Daddy,” she pouts, tilting her chin up to drop a light kiss on his lips, and he can’t resist her after that.  So he slows his movements down to deep, firm, purposeful strokes, driving the vibrator in and out, in and out, as she tugs at his cock until she finally feels it swell to hardness in her hand.  

“You could fuck me a little,” she says, voice edged with pleading.  “I wouldn’t tell.”

He shakes his head, breath coming in low, deep gasps.  “No, baby girl,” he chides her, “I already told you.  You can wait a few more weeks.”

She lets go of his cock.  “Mean,” she whispers, her tone both teasing and pouting at the same time.  He chuckles.

“Come on, baby,” he cajoles her.  “Make Daddy come.”

“No.”

He kisses her neck, light and ticklish, eliciting the ghost of a small giggle. “Please.”

“No.”

“Clarke -”

“Just a  _ little,” _ she whines, eyes big and pleading.  “Just for a minute.”

“Baby, we can’t.”

But she’s very, very good at sad puppy eyes, and she usually gets what she wants, and she knows it’s torture for him too; so finally, as though he can’t help himself, he withdraws the vibrator and gently, carefully, runs the very tip of his cock in a slow line up and down the seam of Clarke’s cunt.  He doesn’t push inside, doesn’t go anywhere near her entrance, just nudges her soft rosy labia apart and pets the damp, pink flesh with the swollen purple head until neither of them can bear it anymore.  They’ve stopped kissing, and are simply staring at each other, eyes wide, panting for breath, both of them imagining what would happen if he threw caution to the wind and just pushed right into her now the way their bodies so clearly want.

“Soon,” he whispers raggedly.  “Soon.”

Then, with great reluctance, he pulls his cock away, and slides the vibrator back in.  Rougher this time, with great force.  She swoons back onto the pillows, faint with pleasure, reaching out a fumbling small hand to find his cock again and grip it tightly, sliding the juices of her cunt up and down the shaft to jerk him harder and harder.

She comes first, biting her lip to keep from screaming and waking up mom, fisting the covers with her one free hand, hips lifting and lifting and lifting, but her other hand doesn’t stop until he’s striped the creamy rose-flushed skin of her belly with white, and then collapsed in a sticky, sweaty heap on top of her.

He gives himself the luxury of lingering there with her for a little while, limbs tangled together, listening to each other breathe, until he finally forces himself to get up for a washcloth to clean them both up, removing all traces of the night from their bodies.

“When we do it for real,” Clarke whispers, taking his hand as he kisses her goodbye and gets up to leave, “can I stay the night with you?”

“Of course,” he murmurs back.  “Of course.”

“I’m counting down the days.”

“I know.”

Then he closes the door behind her, and a moment later she hears the creak of the mattress in the other room, and a rustling and shifting, and soon he’s dozed off, snoring lightly, and Clarke knows Mom is wrapped up tight in his arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy clarke's birthday to us all :-)

The next two weeks pass like that, more or less.  Mom and Marcus are making up for lost time, so they fuck every night, it doesn’t stop or slow down at all. Clarke wonders if all married couples are like this, but from what she’s seen on TV or heard from her friends about their own parents, it sure doesn’t seem like it.  And they’re not as discreet about it as they think they are; twice Clarke almost walks in on them fucking in the shower because the door is ajar and not latched, and even when she can hear from her bed that they’re making an attempt at keeping the noise down, she can hear everything.

But she doesn’t mind it.

There’s less time to talk with Marcus than she’s used to, so he has to say everything that he needs to say to her with his hands and his kisses and his tongue.  It’s always rushed and muffled when he comes to her room at night, and sometimes it’s very late; he always waits until Mom’s all the way asleep. So sometimes he wakes her up altogether, she makes herself come when Mom does and then dozes off waiting for him, only to be awoken an hour or so later by the delicious shivery scratch of beard kissing its way up the inside of her thigh.  She can’t ask him any of the things she wants to ask him, but that fear she once had is gone. Somehow, Marcus is making it all work. Somehow, he loves them both as much as ever, and if Mom’s not jealous of Clarke then Clarke isn’t jealous of Mom. So when he gently lowers herself onto her frilly, lacy bed and nuzzles into her neck as his fingers find her clit and pet it gently until she’s shaking, she knows what he’s trying to tell her is that everything is okay, nothing has changed between any of them, and this doesn’t have to stop.

He’s diligent about their practice time with her vibrators, and by the time Mom has to get back on her plane, Clarke has graduated to the biggest, thickest one.  It still isn’t as big as Daddy, but they didn’t want it to be. They want it to be Daddy’s cock itself that finally stretches her open all the way. She doesn’t mind that she knows she’ll be sore.  But she’s much, much more ready than she was at the beginning.

So ready, in fact, that she can hardly stand it.

Every night it just gets harder and harder not to.  Every night, as Daddy glides a dildo inside her, she gazes up at him and bites her lip and pouts and pleads until he finally relents and lets the tip of his cock just touch her sweet pink cunt.  He never goes inside, he holds firm to the rule that he set, but she can feel him weakening. Once he even makes her come that way, rubbing her clit with the tip of his cock. It’s torture, for both of them, but they can’t stop.  Clarke sometimes thinks if she makes puppy dog eyes long enough, she’ll get him to crack, but he doesn’t. He’s very careful.

It doesn’t get better when Mom leaves, it only gets worse, because they have the house to themselves again.  He showers with her every morning before school, making himself come all over her breasts and belly (sometimes even her face and hair, which always makes her giggle), pumping his big yummy pink-purple dick in his strong hand, then tenderly rinsing her off with the pulsing showerhead and soaping her clean before holding the nozzle right between her legs and letting the pounding spray of steamy hot water tickle her clit until she comes too.  It feels so delicious she always wants to climb back into bed and take a nap in his arms afterwards, but there’s only two more weeks left of school before summer vacation, which starts the day before her birthday, so she tries hard not to get distracted.

He takes good care of her during finals week, cooking her delicious dinners and helping her with chemistry flashcards and making sure she takes study breaks (usually involving him kneeling between her thighs while she sits on the sofa, and eating her out until she’s shaking so hard she has to set her book down).  She’s pretty sure being so well taken care of by Daddy is the only reason she gets through it without a nervous breakdown from stress; it was so much worse last year, when she was tense and anxious about everything, but she wasn’t having this many orgasms then. It’s a lot better now.

The last day of school, the day before her birthday, she leaves after school for a big girls’ night sleepover with Raven at their friend Octavia’s house, and as Daddy kisses her goodbye that morning he murmurs into her ear, “Make me a promise, baby girl.”

“Anything.”

“Whatever you and Raven get up to at this party, don’t come after midnight.”

“We aren’t gonna do anything,” she protests, “there will be other girls there.”

Marcus grins at her.  “You’re pretty good at sneaking around, baby girl.”  Which she can’t deny.

“Why midnight?”

“Because I want us to wait,” he says, stroking her face.  “Twenty-four full hours. No orgasms, for either of us, until it’s finally time for us to come together.  I won’t do it either, I promise.”

“A whole _day?”_ she exclaims.  “That will be torture.”

“I know.”

“If we do . . . do stuff . . . at the party . . .”

“As long as it’s before midnight,” he orders her gently, and she feels guilty at the surge of heat that blooms between her thighs at Daddy bossing her around like this.  “If she comes into your bed later then that, well, you can keep her busy and make her feel good until she forgets all about reciprocating and just falls asleep.”

“That does sound like Raven,” Clarke admits.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead.  “Just be home and ready by five o’clock. That’s when the first part of your present will begin.”

“I thought we couldn’t start until midnight.”

“I can’t come inside you until then,” he corrects her, “but there’s a lot of other things we can do first that start much earlier than that.”

Clarke shivers at the anticipation in his voice.  He has that look he gets in his eyes when he has a particularly wicked plan.

“Five o’clock, then,” she whispers breathlessly, giving him one last kiss and savoring it, since it’s the last one she’ll get for awhile, before grabbing her backpack and racing out the door.

Marcus is right about Raven, it turns out.  She does want to fool around, even with four other girls snoring all over the living room floor, and she does creep her way over to Clarke’s sleeping back long after midnight, and she does crash out completely after the third silent, muffled orgasm Clarke gives her with her little pink tongue.  She wants Raven’s fingers inside her so badly, and she _really_ wants to tell her best friend everything about what Daddy has planned for her birthday, but she doesn’t. She just curls up in the sleeping bag next to her, trying not to think about her wet, aching, yearning cunt, and tries to sleep.

When she comes home the next afternoon, Daddy isn’t anywhere to be found, but there’s an array of beautifully wrapped boxes laid out on her bed, with a note telling her to open them right away.  The first one, thick and rectangular and wrapped in rose-gold paper, turns out to be a heavenly bubble bath and perfume set that Clarke knows is the exact same scent that Mom uses. She borrows a few drops of it sometimes, secretly, to dot between her breasts or behind her ears, because she knows it turns Daddy on when she smells like Mom; but now she has a bottle of her very own.

The second box is one he must have picked up when they were at the lingerie store – a tiny pair of lacy pink panties, and a pink lace push-up bra that makes her already full breasts look even fuller.  The third is a dress to go over them – layers and layers of softly-draped rose-colored chiffon with a fitted bodice that plunges down just low enough for the lacy bra to peek out, something he must have planned on purpose.

She takes a long, yummy bubble bath, letting the spicy floral fragrance soak into her skin, before doing her hair and makeup for what she assumes is going to be a fancy night out somewhere, based on the dress he picked out.  She can’t stop shivering with pleasure every time she looks at the clock; only a few hours left, now, before she gets the present she really wants.

At five o’clock exactly, she comes down the stairs and sees him waiting for her by the door, and her heart stops at the sight of him.  He’s wearing a charcoal-gray suit, and no tie, the top button of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned, and there’s a wisp of a little pocket square that matches her dress exactly.  His beard is neatly trimmed, his shaggy hair perfect, and he looks so handsome she’s tempted to tell him it’s midnight somewhere and try yanking him out of those clothes right here and now.

But he’s not thinking about his own clothes, he’s just staring at her with wide, dazed eyes as she comes down the stairs, he’s staring at the fabric floating over her hips and the way her breasts are nearly overflowing from the skintight bodice, and the immediate swell in his trousers makes her feel all shivery.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, and it makes her feel so very not fifteen, it makes her feel like a _woman,_ like she’s sexy and desirable and powerful.

“I love my new dress,” she says, giving it a coquettish little twirl and watching him swallow hard.

“Just the first of many presents,” he says in a low voice, holding out his hand to her.  “The night’s just starting.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dinner, and then dessert.”

“And then?”

“And then it will be time to take you home and get you ready,” he whispers, and she feels her heart begin to beat faster.  “But it’s going to be a long, long night, baby girl, and you’re going to need to stoke up all your strength. So we’re starting with dinner first.”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace you don’t have to be my daughter,” he tells her, sliding his hand down her back to cup the round swell of her ass.  “Somewhere we don’t have to pretend. Somewhere I can touch you and look at you the way that I want.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little silver ring with a sapphire in it.  It’s Clarke’s, though she doesn’t wear it often, but her grandmother gave it to her for 8th grade graduation.  It’s small, and simple, but the silver and the gemstone are real.  He must have taken it from her dresser while she was gone. He slips it onto her finger.  “Tonight, we’re playing pretend,” he murmurs. “Tonight, you’re my wife.”

Then he takes her hand in his and leads her out the door.


End file.
